Muddy hell, that was a tough task
IT’S been a week of contrasts, beginning with a horribly difficult day trying to negotiate sodden fields and mushy snow.
Rain fell, meltwater gushed, trickling becks became raging torrents.
Ten-year-old Miles and I loaded up the quad bike trailer with hay and set off to the sheep. A bit of inclement weather doesn’t faze him.
On any normal day, to lie out in the back of a trailer full of hay is not such a bad way to travel but this time things metaphorically went downhill as soon as we went uphill.
The inch or two of icy slush that covered the ground afforded the bike no traction.
I soon gave up on trying to go straight up the hill and opted for zigzagging, slalom-style. Miles and I were totally caked in mud by the time we had fed the flock.
We decided we might as well make use of the river and, taking a bucket and brush, we scrubbed up. My waterproofs were decidedly unwaterproof and I finished up soaked to the skin.
I was glad to get back to the fire and warm up.
Later in the week I had to go to Leeds to take part in a radio show. Clive gave me some money and said to buy myself something nice – “a new outfit or something”.
I did look in one store but was pounced upon in the beauty department by a lady wielding some miracle hand cream.
Needless to say she recoiled when she saw the state of mine. Tinged blue from foot rot spray and with a black fingernail due to having it squashed by a yow’s horn. I came back emptyhanded.
I did get an outfit though, via the post... a new pair of waterproofs.